


Stalking Death

by Cannabis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drugs, Drugs Made Them Do It, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cannabis/pseuds/Cannabis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drug known as The Ripper is in supply around Virginia and Maryland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stalking Death

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for helping Hannibal ACCA!
> 
> I really wanted to elaborate more in this world. Maybe someday.

_Gunshot victim. The unnamed friend with him had been under the influence of a new drug called The Ripper and did not survive. The details of his death were not released to the public. However, recent data shows when one is under the influence of The Ripper it never ends well for accompanied parties. Very few have survived, as the buyers tend to avoid instruction, injecting it in more then the moderated dose. It effects people differently, some have seizures, episodes of time gone missing. Most would turn to violent behaviour, physically altering themselves or resorting to cannibalism. Euphoria rupturing away any good natured citizen's sense of morality..._

 

 

 

A small scoff rose by the lips of the reader. What they didn't mention was he had been in protective custody. The gun was the friend's, the protection just seemed to have misplaced their watch. Almost laughing in the face of what was supposed to be someone's safety. The rage that guided the bullet, however, was obviously not a mistake. Nor was the drug induced binge of his colleague's face. Not even two rooms down from where the reader made his bed every night.

 

Will Graham read the lines, noticing a tremor in his left hand as he did so. He had known the victims, so the words were halted tones in his head. It wasn't a relationship to write a memoir about. Just a short tab, like the blurb in the corner of the newspaper. That's how long they had known each other. As long as it took him to set the empty coffee cup in the trash along with the rest of the newspaper. As long as it took him to walk down the street and cross the road to his apartment. He could read the anger on the buyer's face as the one behind him clung submissively to his coat. They were all desperate, and he knew very well he wasn't much different.

 

The article was shoved deep into his coat pocket. It would part alongside the residuum of voices in his scrapbook. All the apologies lined up like a bible of malcontent.

 

He carried a gun now, Smith & Wesson Model 459. Since the time he got stabbed by a customer on a thirty six hour run. He hadn't moved fast enough. One of his regulars too. Maybe it was karma, or maybe the kid had tweaked more then usual and was running low in body and principles. Another desperate person. There was a latent fear that he caught something from the weapon, but the nurses and doctors that had passed his bedside had given him assurance that he was able to hold onto. All the tests had come back negative and he subsequently checked out of the hospital with a lighter spirit then when he had entered. Hadn't seen that particular nightly recently.

 

He returned to his evening labours, albeit it half-heartedly. As he exchanged his wares with the weary eyed, he could feel his emotion stick like nails in his throat. He wondered if he would see some of those faces tomorrow, empty of all but the promise of their next high. A price doubling the cost of their remaining sanity, then wiped away in one blissful dose a few scales too high on the plunger.

 

His shoulder still ached now and then. This morning especially, the air a biting cold. He ran his gloved hands over his face to shake the ice free and as the thought trailed past his phone chimed a call from his handler. With a quick swipe of his thumb he accepted the call. Never too eager to actually do so. He stepped back into the alley shadow to avoid customers as he talked. Returns never came around this hour and he liked both arms free.

 

“Jack.”

 

“Will. We need to talk.” His voice was not so grating, queerly enough, yet an impression was dug into his tone. Will waited for more words, hearing the hovering thought carving a verbal shape at the other end. Instead, it resolved to a different category. “Meet at my house in thirty minutes.”

 

“I'll have to call a taxi.” Will stuffed his hand into his pocket to check for his wallet. A car hummed past as he sifted through his ragged set of bills and he stepped a little farther into the alley. He'd dare not spend any of the money he'd earned. Leafing through, he saw he would have just enough. Jack waiting patiently on the line sent an eerie tremor up Will's spine, which rested at the base of his neck. “I've got the cash. You want me to wait out front?”

 

“There's a key by the fountain in front of my house.” Jack held for a reply then imparted laggardly. “I'll be waiting.” Then he dropped the phone call.

 

“Right...” Will looked at the receiver in his hand and gulped. He wasn't one to try and make mistakes, and it sounded like something rather close to that. _Yet, he was being invited to Jack's house?_ He wasn't sure he would ever have time to gear up for this. Passing through an alley, he spotted a taxi which eagerly moved toward his wave. Instinct said it had been waiting for him. Beyond the taxi, cars scoured by in even bursts.

 

The driver was especially quiet, not even nodding when Will said where he was heading. His gaze was just as silent, moving around only to glance at the flicking lights above the road. He wore a hat over deep grey hair, nearly covering his entire brow. Will chewed over how long he had been working for Jack. They arrived at the house in less then twenty minutes without breaking any road rules. The disturbing accuracy of the driver spoke volumes. Will fished into his pocket to pay, but the man grunted, got out and popped open the door before his hand left his pocket. Definitely waiting for him.

 

“Thanks.” He said a little above a whisper. His throat had tightened up. Another grunt, and the driver shut the door behind him and sped away. Now only Jack's house stood before him, the blue shutters at every window accented the pale stone, giving the two story a looming grace. Watching everything around it. He crossed the driveway quickly, passing by a two car garage. The rest of the house was saturated by tidy hedges that he was sure Jack wouldn't like him jumping. He found the key _in_ the fountain rather then by it after some shuffling and unlocked the door. Jack was sitting inside, waiting for him. His face was not happy. He didn't mince words as Will closed the door behind him.

 

“Beverly Katz is gone.” “You'll be taking her place in Baltimore until I can find another...replacement.”

 

“Couldn't Zeller or Price do that?” Will almost burst out, but he held his voice down. Beverly had been his only business partner.... _friend_ that had ever helped him. When Jack's face just darkened, he shook out the words quickly to avoid being shouted at. “What happened?”

 

“My insiders at the morgue say it was overdose on _The Ripper_.” The answer was swift, cutting into Will further then the short blade that had punctured his shoulder weeks ago. His heart ached for those he had not known but damage done close to home had him almost bursting in disgust. Fear. Beverly was not the type to do something so foolish. Someone killed her. He swallowed hard to hold back his overflowing emotion.

 

Whoever they were, they would be waiting for him. Waiting exactly where Beverly sold her stock.

 

“I need you to do this. Be prepared. This area is much different then the street you now _formerly_ worked.” Jack's eyes were more then focused. Dark with vengeance and nearing desperation. Everyone was desperate these days.

 

“I understand.” Will spoke with a nod, in hopes that Jack wasn't throwing him from the lion's den to the pit of snakes. At least with the first, there was a better chance of escape.

 

He made his way home as quickly as possible. Jack didn't phone a return taxi for him, and he hadn't wanted to bother with it himself. He was inwardly happy it wasn't far, but the change in environment was evident, even the passing cars turned from sombre blacks and neutrals to obnoxiously loud expressions of hierarchy. Less then a mile away and the neighbourhood turned from trimmed lawns and smooth white houses to a rightfully grim exterior. A match for the interior of the person's within, unlike Jack's choice of residence. _Scum at the bottom of the barrel._ As he dodged the cracked pavement, sometimes forgetting to evade a particular rise, he listened to the screams piercing from the neighbour's windows, scanning them out of a sense instinct. As he came to his own window, he noticed it was open slightly, letting in a slight breeze to waver the blinds.

 

 _Someone was in his room._ He dialled Jack, his heart thumping erratically as the tone erupted against his ear. Almost in time to the call, the clouds split wide to free the moon from their shadow, the light gracing his window. The silhouette unmistakably familiar. He felt the bile rise in his throat, yet his feet carried forward.

 

Jack's voice mail. He hung up.

 

As he clanked up the metal staircase, he wondered what was driving him to do this. This need for confirmation with his own eyes, when _he knew_. He knew very well who was waiting for him. The key slid into the lock with ease and he turned the knob slowly with his hand curled under his sleeve.

 

There was no need to turn on the light. The moon showering through the window was picturesque enough. No blood. It was still at the morgue, after all.

 

“Beverly.” He whispered hoarsely. His phone chimed at his intake of breath. He picked it up without looking. It was Jack.

 

 

Twelve weeks had passed since Will had moved out to Baltimore, and he had determinately commenced to slip into his early schedule, in this different zone of distribution. Parked between an old dollar store and tax service. The people that came to buy from him were not so nebulous in this drug that he had been authorized to sell out. Something he hadn't even dared to try, slipping from his rough hands into their manicured ones. Crisp bills snapped flat in lieu of grimy, tired things waving on one final recycle. He ached all over every time he made a sale. Remembering the souls in the paper from just weeks afore that had fallen victim to murder and havoc. The friend that sat encased in moonlight in his former apartment. All of it was haunting, driving a wedge of fear between his lungs where his heart should have been.

 

“I'll take three.”

 

Will snapped out of his thoughts to rummage into his pocket. Taking that short moment to scrutinize the driver, the glossy black Mercedes Benz he hovered in, the heat plucking the ice from his skin as he leaned toward the window to change money for merchandise. It was quick and easy. Someone had this corner paid off from the police and Will wondered if it was Jack. Less chance of being arrested, but more danger of being taken or killed by a customer. _Could that have been part of Beverly's demise?_ She wouldn't have gone into a vehicle willingly. Someone grabbed her or lead her away. Most likely they stuck her with her own product before doing so.

 

“How long you going to stand there, punk?” A silver Cadillac this time. The driver's eyes already looked close to unhinged, sheathed under heavy, angry brows. Will waited for him to repeat the order. In response he got pursed lips and four outrageously dramatic fingers waved at him. Will decided to test the water on this one.

 

“Money.” He said simply. The car you drove meant nothing in a city that was painted with the bloody colour of espionage. Here he was, doing exactly that with tremendous purpose. Anything to shake his regrets and try to stabilize the memory of one of-if not his only friend. He just hoped he wouldn't be painting with it or become the painted. A few bills showered out the window at him, and he restrained a chuckle, crouching to snag the bills before finishing the deal with him. He could hear mad fingers drumming on a steering wheel. This one was going to wind himself too far up. He stood and cautiously passed four sets to the driver without getting in grabbing range. _Snatch._ The driver stomped on the gas and rolled around a nook. Will shivered as a breeze sidled up his back.

 

Every corner lurked with danger, he couldn't forget that. He took a quick look at the weather on his mobile and felt the frown tug at his soul. Now wishing he had brought another jacket. He stared across the road at a pastry shop surrounded by trees and white fencing, something he had been idly doing the last few days and thought of the warmth that permeated within. It looked quite homely. The difference in jobs favoured them in safety and comfort but the money favoured him. He never caught himself feeling jealous as they were forced to pretend at each individual who dropped a bill in their cash registers. He only felt pity and hollowed out by sorrow for anyone doing something they couldn't run from.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Will jumped. The wind had distracted him only a moment, and the soft purring engine that pulled up at his blind spot had been blown away from him. No order was shouted out, and he turned cautiously toward the voice. A smooth mesh grill slid past his arm and he glanced at the window, waiting until it halted. A Bentley Arnage a smooth coloured exterior with a driver to match. This one wasn't a regular, nor had he stopped before. Something about it seemed familiar, though. Will changed his tone deliberately.

 

“What is it.” Tactfully indifferent.

 

“I was passing by on my way to work. It's rather cold to be standing outside.” Insouciant conversational tones mixed with a sound byte of business. Will couldn't blurt out that he was working to shove him on his way. An inkling in the man's dark eyes told him so. He knew something. A shift in his seat, then lazily a bag of warm pastries rose out in front of him. Will could smell more then one flavour slithering around his senses.

 

“Why?” He was still wary, but a chuckle as warm as the bag emitted from the window space that separated them.

 

“Why not.” The driver shifted into drive. He had parked for a chat. “Eat them quickly, today is only going to get colder.” As Will took the bag of pastries, he was certain that the glove stroked his index finger. Then the driver was gone.

 

The warm pastries held him over to nearly dinner time. The instance became a distant memory as the week trailed forward full of tasteless green from hand to hand, and the howling dreams that echoed in Will's head. He was filling up with regrets and emotional bondage, all of these _people_ like a plague of hammers exhausting against the inside of his skull. Behind his eyelids they danced at night, fragmenting in his hands during the day.

 

“ _Fucking kid!”_ The Cadillac driver was on a bender and who knew what else as money flew out the window at Will again. Will snorted a bit. He was ten years too old to be called 'kid.'

 

“You should hand it to me, like a normal human being.” Will goaded him and he didn't know exactly why until _after_ the door slammed open, the driver emerging. Words. They had tumbled free from a weary soul, tired of this routine, sending others to their mental deaths, hollowed out by decisions made too early at any time in life. But here was one who wasn't so much deserving of a carefree send off.

 

“You are an infection on these streets kid. No one is going to miss you.” The voice cutting forward through the icy air was hot with intent and choler. Will's face twitched in disgust at the unfavourable circumstance. He didn't want to get attacked again, but using his gun at such a short distance was too desperate. He could never be that desperate. He broke into a sprint across the street, the driver screaming behind him; left to pick up the bills floating down the side walk. He stayed behind the pastry shop until he saw the customer speed down the road, ignoring a red light. He implored to the sky that this one would choose another route for his daily weakness. He very much doubted his luck would run that long as he caught his breath.

 

Then a familiar purring engine, humming to a stop on the left side of the shop. The trees hide it mostly from view. No longer muffled by snow and wind. He edged around and watched the driver open the door and step out. A curious look blanketed his visage and he glanced across the street. Then down to his timepiece. Before he knew it Will had paused his breathing. This man had been watching...waiting for him? Will's curiosity dug deep into his veins, then a wonder if it was the whimsical nature of this man before him that bled into his spirit.

 

“Over here.” He spoke barely above a whisper. No surprise echoed from his posture, but the driver turned with a smile that glimpsed over his eyes.

 

“Warming up?” He had a playful hum in his voice, as he buttoned his coat.

 

“Hm. Sort of.” Will stepped from behind the building. He felt much less burdened talking to the shape of a man, then one tucked inside a vehicle. Still, he remained cautious. “You seem to fancy pastries, or rather what travels this street during a particular hour.” A soft laugh in return.

 

“I can give solemn assurance I'm not stalking you.”

 

“As long as you don't end up on my doorstep one day, I suppose it really doesn't matter.” Will rolled his gloved hands together unconsciously, and the stranger took note. He closed the door to his vehicle and gestured toward the shop.

 

“Coffee? My treat.” It only took a moment for Will to nod favourably and he followed the man toward the entrance. The bell rang jovially as the stranger opened the door, pausing for Will. He nodded his thanks and added a half smile as he passed, vaguely feeling the other's eyes travelling over his back. He stepped aside still as the other man passed in, none too eager at having a person so close at his back. _Yet he had still agreed to come in the shop with him._

 

The heat of the ovens steamed the chill from his bones, and filled his nostrils with an abundance of confectionery breakfast treats. This side of the street had begun to feel much more promising but deep in his mind was seated a thought that knew better then to trust such a whimpering idea. As they moved toward the counter, a cashier appeared. A look of familiarity crossing his gaze as he saw both of them. Will's heart stopped, of course they would've been looking at him too.

 

“Dr. Lecter! Morning paper and pastries to go?” The name tag on his left pocket read _Gerald._ His face had a genuine shine to it in their presence.

 

“Coffee and a paper today, Mr. Testlin. Unless my friend would like a dose of carbohydrates?” He turned his eyes on Will. The wording was well placed, and Will knew it. He shook his head. A bizarre sense hung from the roof of his mouth, something he could almost trace with his tongue.

 

“No, just...a coffee.” He caught himself holding the gaze of this stranger-Dr. Lecter for a moment longer then he was used to. Something was dawning in his memory. More then the aesthesis of freshly baked goods.

 

“Two coffees and a paper, coming up.” Gerald rang them up efficiently, a professional of the sort that could one day be anyone or anybody. They had their delicately brewed coffee in less then a minute, and Will followed Dr. Lecter to a table by the window. They talked in action, wrapped in silence a moment, the newspaper remaining idly to the side as they stared at one another.

 

“It's good, thank you.” Will spoke into the cup, a welcome warmth rising against his chin, elbows resting just below the table's edge for balance. “I'm....Will by the way. Since you've been partially introduced to me already.” A curt nod in reply.

 

“You should visit more often, Will. It's a very welcome atmosphere on this side of the street.” He almost echoed Will's posture but folded his hands around his cup patiently instead. “By experience I can also say a good breakfast is alimentary, especially in harsh times.”

 

“It's a thought.” Will replied, though felt the quiet atmosphere would do little to silence the echoes of long days behind him. He drifted toward his cup again, incoherently lost in the drum of what would follow him once he left the pastry shop.

 

“Will.” Dr. Lecter had tilted his head down slightly, gauging Will's view as he had leapt into the spiral of his thoughts. A prickle rose up Will's back as he found himself returning the gaze again. Solemn posture that drew him from the depths. “I know this may come as brazen request, but I would like to have you over for breakfast one day. Do you have time?”

 

“I...what?” Will felt like all his thoughts had drained out with the words that the Doctor had just uttered. He cleared his throat and thought of Beverly's untimely demise. He dared not. “I don't know.”

 

“I understand. If time was truly capable of knowing us, we wouldn't try so hard to control it before we are gone from this world.” His hand went into his coat and he pulled out a small card, elegantly writing something on the back in solid black, then slid it within Will's reach. As Will's eyes fell upon it, so his companion's eyes fell to his timepiece once more. “I don't expect anything from you, Will. Now, I must apologize for leaving and let you tend to your beverage.”

 

“Running...late?” Will spoke in an even tone, inquisitive to a fault, as he watched the Doctor stand and tuck the paper under his arm.

 

“Not yet.” He rolled his gloves on easily and picked up his coffee cup. “Good day, Will.”

 

“You too, Doctor.” He let a smile manoeuvre through his expression. Something glowed back from the other's manner that didn't let him fake it. The bell rang just as merrily when he left. Will sipped from the cup idly, watching the Bentley pull around the corner and disappear from sight. On the card was an address in personal writing to a house. On the other was an office in engraved lettering. This man was full of deliberate motives that Will couldn't pin down.

 

Before he could really understand his own motivation for it, Will had resigned his last few hours of work to go home. Somehow passing out on his couch with three cups of coffee pouring through his system. There were no haunting memories that chased him that night.

 

When he woke the next morning, he felt an excruciating need to use the restroom, and moved to do so. He washed his hands and walked by the kitchen to retrieve fresh clothes. A voice echoed in his mind and he decided to make some toast this morning. He had butter and jam in the fridge accompanied by less then a pint of milk. He took them out while the toaster hummed.

 

The phone rang as he settled into a chair to eat. It was the house phone this time, and only one person knew this number.

 

“Will. Where were you the last three hours of your shift!?” Jack's voice snapped through the ear piece so viciously the signal dropped a notch. For the first time in awhile, Will felt like biting back.

 

“Ask the customer in the silver Cadillac. He came at me Jack, and I wasn't going to pull a gun in the street.” He was surprised when the other voice was harshly empty. He checked to see if the call was still connected. It was. Then Jack's voice emitted and he quickly set it back against his ear.

 

“He's dead, Will. They found his body at a bus yard.” Will's stomach dropped then lurched.

 

“Was it drugs?” Will hoped, If something, be anything except the product he sold again. He was burning and surrounded by his own fortuity.

 

“No.” Jack sighed heavily and Will waited through the pause. “Someone sliced him in half.”

 

By the time the call ended, Will's toast had gotten cold. He finished it in silence then meandered into his living room.

 

He stared at the product strewn across his coffee table. _The Ripper._ A potentially life altering or life fettering drug. For two years he had been able to shake off the damage he had been handing out like candy. There was little damage within those needles that he hadn't consented to by selling it. Beverly, murder. He himself was a part of all of it. Somewhere in the terms, he sat down and laced himself in the madness within the plunge. His head fell back in a deep sigh as he drifted into another world. Blackness surrounded him.

 

He could feel his retinas dragging him in place, heavy like anchors. In slow motion, cars and people were mists that blurred and warped away. Faint voices mixed with his from one ear to the other, like a wind blown seesaw chattering, breaking free and anxious from one spectrum to another, like giggling children following his ambling steps.

 

If he was lucid, dreaming or lucid dreaming he wasn't sure, finding himself on trouble's doorstep, groaning himself awake with dry spittle crackling around the right side of his mouth. A voice was whispering to him, and he saw the rounded image of a man before him. A blast of light behind him. A _porch light? He managed to collect the thought._ He was certain it was Jack, until careful arms raised him up and pulled him away from the cold walls he had fallen against. The sounds all around him were muffled like he was under water, waves of noise buzzing over him but incomprehensible. A gentle hand wrapped around his shoulder, fingers grasping a bit in comfort and he was whisked inside. His jacket loosed from his shoulders, and a chair is slid under him. As the sting of a needle at his arm muscle set in, he felt the upheaval slowly weave it's way from his bloodstream. All the while, whispers muddled his consciousness. Chasing away the shadows that had gather around him in a ring, quietly chanting his demise no longer.

 

As he wakes, he is aware of being wrapped up. Arms hold him steady, and against his wet back he feels a heart beat against his spine. He doesn't recognize where he is now, and that he had managed to incoherently blunder and find such a place. Only when a soft whisper reaches him, does he realize it is not a mistake.

 

“Oh, I found my way here. Didn't mean to.” Will manages to slur as the beads of water drum against his neck and back. Not too hot, not too cold.

 

“You did. I am glad I was home to greet you.” A Doctor's voice, pleasant and calm. It oscillates along his shoulders.

 

“Luck...?” Will groans quietly, trying to open his eyes, but it's still too bright to see without it stinging his vision.

 

“I wouldn't say luck comes so objectively. Only to those who are deprived of something think so lightly.” As the voice tremors against his back with the water, a right hand finds his forehead to gauge his temperature. “How are you feeling.”

 

“Less..... _lost_.” He absently drops his head against the left arm, that holds him steady.

 

A soft chuckle. “You are safe with me, Will.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“I've gotten you involved in something not so ethical to your environment.”

 

“We all have chosen paths. Ours is one that has crossed, and will cross many times more in the future. Do you want breakfast?”

 

“Please.” The effects of the drug was wearing thin, and his stomach was feeling tightened by hunger. He had been walking all night to find this place without even meaning to. The zoo of his thoughts had settled into silence.

 

There wasn't a week passing before Will found himself humbly acceptive to another breakfast meet over another coffee and pastry. He paid this time disallowing Dr. Lecter's friendly declines over his own pleasure to treat his 'coffee confrere.' He had tumbled out of bed earlier then usual to watch for the familiar vehicle swinging into the parking lot. If things could look up, from the thrum that clinched Will's soul at night, it seemed to ride on the comfort the short conversations they shared in the morning delivered. After he had paid, and Dr. Lecter had gone to work, Will noticed he had accepted unconsciously a dinner date that weekend. The rainy days were passing more easily then the snow belting days that had racked his heart away, shadowed in webs and tired grey mould.

 

When Saturday came to a close, he made his way down the path his once haphazard spirit had trailed in it's decline. He was looking forward to dinner, something that had turned to hard granola and microwave trays when he'd made time for it these last few weeks.

 

“Good evening, Will.” The door opened this time to a pleasant face, not a silhouette faded against the dipping sunlight. Will found himself content to match the smile that preened the Doctor's features.

 

“Evening.” He stepped through the familiar threshold into a comforting

scent of an oven baking something exceptionally better then something stored in a plastic tray. They settled at the table, elegant preparations were set before him, and Will wasn't marvelled like a passer-by, but intrigued. _What had put him in such a position to receive such a delicate offering?_

 

“I must admit there is one more thing I'd like to request of you tonight before you go home, Will.” The Doctor found his guest's eyes over the rim of his wine glass as he thought through his answer.

 

“What is it?” No longer a twist of unconscious hostility in his question.

 

“Would you stay for a short time after? There are some things that dinner isn't going to tide well over in conversation.” Will noticed, he faired well in fashioning it to sound less ominous. It made him less thrilled to agree but the more curious. He nodded slightly. “All right.” _What could be so hard to talk over a warm meal and wine?_ Dinner passed pleasantly after, almost lifting those words away until Will had finished his dessert. As his host stood, he recalled the start of their dinner conversation. The trick to guide him from that threat. Something that his intuition had guided him from before was rising.

 

“Our guest is waiting in the living room.” A friendly gesture toward the open doorway. “Shall we?”

 

It was a short walk, a warm fire glowing through the door made it easier to find, yet still Will was uneasy to see the ensuing visitant. He had not expected this at all and the moment he entered he felt sick, physically and mentally. Teutonic plates seized within his mind, tilting the axis of what he thought could make it easier. Life made _tolerable_. Arms steadied him into a chair beside the fire as well. The flames danced in the eyes of his handler, but there was not a single drop of life left in Jack's eyes. Then he turned his head toward Will and nodded slightly. Will jolted in the assault of defeat that struck him directly past those eyes, into the crushed spirit of a man who had not known enough.

 

“Jack has taken care for some time the order and stock of what you have been selling. Though we have been _unofficially_ met until this evening. You see him here, so I'm certain you know where the product comes from. ” A carefree nod at the man sipping scotch. Though Jack looked just as pallid as Will felt. “I find that you are more suited in more personal matters.”

 

“You've met me _three times...”_ Will was feeling like a fire was caught in his chest, shapeless creatures gnawing at his throat as he tried to speak. “ _Over coffee-_ ” His head fell into his upturned palm as he reeled in the revelation. Everything had been planned, the familiarity lived in the simple permeation of the first greeting. The humming engine that had purred beside him in the alley, _weeks_ before he was stabbed. Passing in his memory as he walked home from Jack's house eons ago. Even a moment before that, the call he had made...he could hear that hum go by him at a passive distance. _What happens to those that get too close without a grant of approval._ There was no exemption to free him. Beverly and many other's had only been a sacrifice to cloud his vision. Thin threads of web closing over time until he had been weaned into blindness.

 

“I said once that you are safe with me, Will. I meant that. For that reason I have tended to the crop around you to make it so.” Dr. Lecter's gentle demeanour remained, but his tone followed with a more business standpoint. _Offerings. Tidings. Voice of reason._ “The pursuing conversation can only lead you in two directions, Will. I hope you choose wisely and with absolute clarity. Either way, it must be what you truly want to happen.”

 

Will listened, he had to. The _alleged_ choice was taken from him as he was angled to and fro, in the direction that both Dr. Lecter and the obligated Jack Crawford had decided upon. Jack cared just as much for his men as he did his work, but he didn't want to lose both. Will accepted the wine that was offered, but it rose more bitter then the bile in his throat for him to do more then sip at it. Everything had connected, and Jack failed to see the tracks that lead to the space right between his shoulder blades. Endings never follow clean beginnings. A chosen one without a choice. A clock chimed, and he exited with calm good byes. Slowly, he followed his feet home.

 

He found himself falling with utter exhaustion to his mattress. He had moved the couch to the bedroom, more at peace to sleep in the open space. Or so he had at one time. Now his heart was the only object in the empty arrangement afore him. His hand traversed his pockets, dropped loose change, his wallet, an old news article-the price of his pain spilling beside the coffee table from his coat. As he breathed in the smell of his bedding, his mind was in otiose, eyes flicking emptily around the room. When his view drooped once more to the table, the soft wind outside no longer startled the weak wiring that trailed his walls, he found the need of his existence no longer exempt from something as simple as choice. What he would remain, was wrapped only in what he could become.


End file.
